Assassin's Creed: Homeland, First Meetings
by AuroranHellcat
Summary: A series of one shots that introduce the significant secondary characters that will help Johanna throughout her journey.
1. Chapter 1

MEMORY START

NEAR RACINE, WISCONSIN

JULY 17TH, 1848

Johanna scaled another hill as she proceeded home; her long legs carried her at a good pace. At the top of the hill, she checked the sun's position in the sky. What she saw encouraged her. She would be home before nightfall. She was sure that her baby brother or sister would be on the way. She felt it deep within her. Inwardly, she cursed herself that she had not taken the family horse, Mara, to make the trip to town. It was a simple trip; her father, Liam, had asked her to go find willow bark. The Indians apparently swore by the bark as a pain killer and Liam always insisted that they have a supply when his wife went into labor.

Without Mara, it was a more slow-going endeavor, but Johanna did not mind. Her long hours in the field had honed her body to a lithe form. As she rounded the bottom of the next hill, she found herself striding just slightly more confidently. Sometimes that was a rare commodity in the young woman's life. Even the General Store owner, Mr. Fitz, still sniggered at her height of six feet, and for the fact that her father trusted her with so much. The latter was usually reserved for when people didn't think Johanna could hear.

She heard it every time...

Johanna walked for a good while longer, silent but for her own thoughts that sometimes slipped into speech. Soon enough, she came to the road. This narrow wagon road ultimately headed to Madison. However, it was Johanna's opportunity to follow. The road took her most of the distance home. She was certainly glad for her pair of leather boots that she wore. Walking on the soft grasses of the Wisconsin hills was no probably walking bare, but this road was another matter entirely.

As she turned to head west towards home, she caught a voice that she had not noticed until then. A male's voice, humming pleasantly, presumably to himself. Johanna turned and nearly ran right into the man. He jumped out of the way with a surprised grunt and then smoothed his jacket. The man was well dressed to Johanna's eye.

Once he perceived himself back in order, the man said, "Well hello there young lady. Gave me quite the scare suddenly appearing on the road like that."

Johanna bowed her head a little bit. The man was tall, taller than her by a few inches. That was a rare occurrence. Some shyness crept into her voice, "I'm sorry sir."

The man gave a chuckle. He said, "You don't have to be scared of me young miss. May I ask your name?"

"Johanna. Johanna MacNamara" She said, some confidence coming back into her voice. "May I ask yours?", she asked.

"Mine?" The man replied. "The name is Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln. Springfield, Illinois attorney at law, at your service."

"A lawyer? From Illinois?" What are you doing so far north Mr. Lincoln?"

Mr. Lincoln raised an eyebrow at the inquiries but replied, "I had to help some friends of mine up here and I am simply on my way home. I hope to walk to Chicago and be back in Springfield by the end of the week."

Johanna raised an eyebrow, "You're headed in the wrong direction, Mister. This is the road to Madison."

Mr. Lincoln did not seem the ruffled in the slightest by this statement. He simply chuckled again and said, "I'm afraid I'm slightly out of my field here, young Johanna. I seem to have gone and gotten myself lost."

Johanna looked at the sun again. There was no way that Mr. Lincoln could make it back even to Racine before the sun set. This was to say nothing of him reaching Chicago or Madison in that time.

Johanna thought for a moment and then said, "You could come stay the night at our homestead Mr. Lincoln. Certainly you need some rest soon, and my papa will be able to give you directions to Chicago."

Mr. Lincoln smiled and nodded, "Lead the way Miss MacNamara. Lead the way."

The pair set to a steady pace and soon fell into pleasant conversation. Johanna stared admiringly at the gentleman that had become her traveling companion. The tales he spun and the cases he had been a part of filled her with and equal sense of laughter and shock. He was coming on the end of his term in office representing Illinois to the House of Representatives. Johanna peppered him with questions as they walked; she had never left the state of Wisconsin, much less traveled all the way to Washington. Mr. Lincoln continued to smile in a fatherly way as he answered her questions. Johanna decided then that it was good of her to extend the invitation for him to rest at home. She only hoped her father wasn't too annoyed with the sudden appearance of a guest.

As they turned onto the smaller road that would take them the small distance to the homestead, Johanna saw smoke billowing up behind a hill. It seemed wrong somehow. Quickly, Johanna asked Mr. Lincoln if he would stay a moment while she went forward. He nodded in the affirmative but with a slight narrowing of his eyes. Johanna hardly noticed as she dashed up the last hill.

What she saw stunned her. The farm was in absolute ruins. The door to the house was hanging on one hinge. Every window looked like they had been blasted in. The barn and stables were in complete disarray and the chickens were still squawking in alarm. Even worse, all the wheat that they had stored from the winter harvest was up in flames.

Johanna crept closer as she looked around. Something else was wrong. There had once been a fire at the farm a few years back and she remembered her father bellowing to her brothers to go get water to put it out. Here, besides the chickens, there was no sound whatsoever.

A quiet 'thunk' brought her back to attention and she looked down. Next to her feet was her scythe. The tool was an old one and her father had joked that it was the first one ever made by the Irish. But it had served Johanna well in helping her father take care of the harvesting duties. She picked it up carefully and inspected the blade. She deduced that there were no more notches than normal in its blade. She held it at the ready as she approached the house. She had a feeling in her stomach that something was deeply wrong.

Strangely, she found very little wrong inside the house, but it was still empty. Johanna then thought that the only other place they could be was the barn. Gripping the scythe even tighter, she moved towards the large building. The front door was slightly ajar. She slowly pushed it open.

What she saw made her scream in terror. Hanging on the first ceiling beam of the barn was her mother father and brother, all dead. Her father also had two large chest wounds that had bled profusely. All of their heads were at awkward angles that signaled that their necks were already broken. Johanna collapsed to the floor and began to cry, huge tears of despair rolling down her cheeks.

"No. NO!", she screamed to no one in particular. "Please no!"

However, her screams and tears had attracted attention. As she looked up with bleary eyes, three figure came out of the shadows of the barn.

"Hey Billy," One of them said. "We missed one!"

"Darned right we did." The one named Billy replied. "Let's get her. This whole family has to pay."

Johanna was struck with fear, but she quickly pulled herself back to her feet and raised the scythe in what she thought might be a defensive posture. _What am I doing?_ She thought. _Run!_ But out of the shadows came an object that could only be a pistol. Running would do little good against that. She stood her ground.

As her family's murderers closed in however, she heard a sound that sounded like a metallic click. Soon, the lead man's compatriots dropped to the floor of the barn, blood already starting to pool below their bodies. The other man turned in surprise to only see a tall figure behind him.

Johanna was shocked to see that it was Mr. Lincoln. And he had some sort of blade attached to his wrist. The man barely had time to yell before Mr. Lincoln used the blade on him. He dropped like a sack of grain. Johanna was paralyzed with shock as Mr. Lincoln bent over the leader's body and grabbed something off the man's hand. A ring, she thought it looked like. She was too afraid though to ask.

"Templars." Mr. Lincoln grumbled.

"What" Johanna finally spoke. "Templars?"

Mr. Lincoln turned to Johanna and a hard look that had not been there previously appeared on his face. "You must come with me Johanna."

"What?" Johanna asked almost at the point of fury, her cheeks reddening with her rage. "I can't just leave. What about my family, the farm? They need a proper burial."

Mr. Lincoln gave a sigh, "Young lady. You've become part of something that I would not wish upon any man, friend or foe. Like it or not, you must go. These men certainly were not an isolated group. If they are who I think they are, there will be more. Then what will come of you?

Johanna had another retort on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. It suddenly hit her harder than a hammer on an anvil. They had wanted to kill her too.

"Where will I go?" Johanna asked quietly, heavy with fear.

"With me." Mr. Lincoln replied. "For the moment, we must simply get away from here."

Her mind suddenly made up, Johanna rushed quickly into the house to grab her satchel. She would need some supplies. Luckily, it appeared that whoever had killed her parents were not brigands or thieves. She thrust some dried meat and some cheese into the satchel and grabbed a small knife her father used to clean rabbits and fish. That was all that would fit though.

Mr. Lincoln was waiting at the entrance to the road when Johanna burst out of the door. She didn't dare look back. She knew if she did, she'd start crying again. For now, it was simply movement.

One foot in front of the other...

END MEMORY CLIP

DESYNCHRONIZE


	2. Chapter 2

MEMORY START

SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS

DECEMBER 18TH, 1848

"You're leaving?" Johanna MacNamara said with surprise. She huddled close to the fire as she tried to keep the winter chill off of her.

Abraham Lincoln nodded to her as he sat opposite of her. He was already in his signature top hat and black suit.

"Yes Miss Johanna." He said patiently. "I must report back to Washington. Duty to Congress calls me one last time."

"But what about my training?" Johanna cut in. Since Mr. Lincoln had rescued her at her family farm four months ago, he had been training her. Not as a politician or a lawyer, but as an Assassin.

In the last few months, Johanna had learned more than she ever thought was possible for one person to hold inside their head. Behind all the countries and organizations of the world was this secret war that had raged for millennia between the Assassins and the Templars. The Assassins representing the ideals of human free will and human goodness. The Templars representing the opposite side of human nature. For centuries, they had fought each other, trying to best one another. And Johanna finally knew who her family's killers were.

Templars...Templars had strung up her family like hogs ready for the slaughter. The memory came back and caused Johanna's eyes to harden. She had sworn months ago that she would find the men that had ordered her family's execution, and make them pay for the pain she felt still.

Mr. Lincoln's voice brought her back to the present, "I have already arranged for one of my former apprentices to bring you to Chicago to continue your training. It is already high time for some practical lessons in our order."

"What is his name?" Johanna asked, curiosity tinging her voice towards the urgent.

"Edward Miller." Mr. Lincoln replied. "He is one of the best in the Great Lakes Order and I fully expect him to succeed me one day. That is his choice at any rate. Be prepared though. You think yourself hard by what you have seen; he is a harder man still."

Johanna blinked nervously. Her father had been a hard man only when he was angry, which was a rare occurrence in the first place. At the same time however, she was eager to meet this man.

A knock at the door caused them both to swing their eyes in that direction.

"Come in." Mr. Lincoln said.

The door handle clicked unlatched and a blast of cold wind and snow preceded the figure that stepped. Before uttering a word, he set to stamping his boots and hanging up the long coat that he was wearing. Underneath the coat, stark white against the brown was the true Assassin's Robes. Johanna had only seen these once when Mr. Lincoln had shown his own to her. That had been one of her first lessons, and even months later, Johanna did not feel worthy to wear the simpler robes that he had offered her. The only parts she kept was her new French-built, Damascus Steel Hidden Blade and the hood, which she wore in a cowl around her neck. Otherwise, her simple brown dress suited her fine.

Edward Miller himself was a tall man. However, that was not the right of it entirely. He was strong: as strong as a blacksmith. His grey eyes had a way of sweeping the room and a line of a mouth that appeared to be set that way. _Mr. Lincoln was right_. Johanna thought. _This is a man stronger than a bull._

Mr. Lincoln sat up and stuck out his hand. Edward took it and a small smile cracked his solid features. "It's good to see you Mentor."

The older man smiled as well and pulled Edward into an embrace. "I am glad that you made it safely. This is no time to travel in Illinois surely. But as I was telling your new apprentice here, this is extraordinary circumstances."

Edward replied simply, "Yes, Mentor." He then sat down into the chair that was opposite Johanna. Mr. Lincoln's wife rushed in, practically alerted by the creak of the chair. Her reaction spoke that she knew of Edward already. She offered him something warm to drink, though Johanna was too intent on Edward to pay much more of a passing interest in Mrs. Lincoln.

Once he had been served, Edward fixed his stare on her. "So you are the young slip that my mentor rescued?"

Tongue-tied, Johanna simply nodded.

"Speak up girl." Edward suddenly barked. "I will not have this type of cowering. Speak, and be heard."

The side of Johanna's mouth stretched into a smirk and she sat up a little straighter, "Yes. Mr. Lincoln rescued me, from Templars that killed my whole family."

Edward Miller sat quiet for a long while. He then said, "We leave in the morning. I expect you to carry your own gear. And you will change into proper robes of our Order."

Johanna's eyebrows drew down and she lowered her voice, "I will not."

A slight twitch of the eye was the only thing that hinted at Edward's annoyance, but then another small smile appeared on his lips, "Very well Johanna. There appears to be some spine in you after all. You will learn well, I reckon."

Johanna bowed her head slightly. "Thank you mentor."

The three of them sat in silence for a long while, none wanting to break it. Mr. Lincoln was the first to excuse himself to sleep. That left the new mentor and apprentice.

"Why did you want to join our cause?" He suddenly said.

Johanna was taken aback at the aggressiveness of his question, but she quickly replied, "Mr. Lincoln didn't tell you?"

"No." He said. "A telegram cannot say much."

Johanna thought for a few seconds and then said, "I fight because I'm the only one who can." A mental image of her parents and her brothers flashed in her memory again.

Edward stared at her again, intent. "You will make a good Assassin, Ms. MacNamara. You have a fire inside you. Never lose that." He stood up from the chair. "Be ready to travel by sunrise."

"Yes mentor. Johanna replied as Edward turned away. As he did, a sudden thought occurred to her. _Those eyes. They're so intense. Why do they belong to such a hard man?_

MEMORY END

DESYNCHRONIZE


	3. Chapter 3

MEMORY START

NEAR SOUTHERN ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI

JANUARY 13th, 1870

Johanna MacNamara shivered as a slicing wind cut through her cloak. The cloak hid her Assassin's robes, but on a day like today, it served its more practical purpose. She had known some harsh winters in her near forty-three years, but this far south, it seemed to have more of a bite to the bone.

All around her, a storm raged. She inwardly cursed herself for traveling during the coldest part of winter. She peeked out from keeping her head down to track her course. She could still see the dull glow of St. Louis in the distance. She dipped her head back down beneath the cowl of her hood and moved her fingers. She still sensed the movement. She could still feel the characteristic biting cold that her "reaper" carried with it, as well as her Colt 45.

Her "reaper"... She touched the weapon with an almost reverent gentleness. It felt so long ago. The scythe that she so awkwardly wielded all those years ago to prevent her death from Byron Kilbourn's thugs at the time. She still shivered at the name. If there was a hell, she hoped that he would burn in the lowest level of it. The trail had gone cold on him years ago. He was probably dead for all she knew.

Her hand traveled up to the awkwardly attached handle: a cavalry sword handle. Her eyes welled up, threatening even in the biting cold to burst into tears.

"Edward..." She whispered softly and pulled her hands tighter around her chest. It had been five years. Five years a widow and she still felt the pain: the pain of a woman who had not seen her husband in the 4 years preceding his death. Nearly half a decade, she had waited for him to come home. But at the end of the war, all she received was a telegram and a broken cavalry sword. She had cried for days after she had found out. And then Mr. Lincoln, shot in the back without the mercy of even seeing his killer. It was a wonder that she had held herself together.

Even now, as the memories of her mentor's final hours came back to her, she couldn't help but squeeze out a cold tear. It was too much. Her husband and her second father, both dead in a matter of weeks. It had been five years, and the loneliness was crushing her. However, with Mr. Lincoln's death, she had been raised to mentor of the Great Lakes Assassins. She had no choice; she had to be strong. She couldn't feel.

In her sullen reverie, Johanna suddenly noticed that she had come on the edge of a precipice. She knew the moment her eyes refocused that it was already too late; she was going over.

The fall seemed to last an eternity and a second all at the same time. When she hit the ground though, she heard a discernible snap and pain welled up from her leg. Even before she stopped moving, slowed by a snow drift, she knew her leg was broken. She would not be moving any time soon. As she slowly regained her senses, she tried to flex her leg. A shock of pain ran up her spine she simply let it lay there.

Suddenly a feeling of terror swept over her. _I'm going to die out here, alone..._ She thought.

But then another thought entered her mind. _No!_ She would not give in. The hells that had been thrown toward her in her life had not broken her. This would not either. Slowly, she rolled onto her stomach, and using her uninjured leg and hands, began to crawl towards the lights.

She did not get for before the cold started seeping into her even deeper. Her fingers were starting to numb and it would not be long before she would even be able to pull herself. Yet she kept going: kept pulling.

With a start, she heard the sound of crunching boots off to her left. Out of the snow and ice, a figure appeared. As it came closer, it became clear to Johanna that it was a man: A young man around his middle twenties. She noticed that he wore all black except for a small spot of white just under his neck. _A clergyman?_ She vaguely thought as her vision started to fade. She only barely felt the sensation as the young man rushed over to her and picked her up. A slight whinny told Johanna that he had a horse in tow. Weakly, she helped him get herself into the saddle.

"Thank you." Johanna whispered.

"Shh." The man replied. "Let us get out of this cold first. My house is not far from here."

Johanna only had a shadowy recollection of the journey. She had an even vaguer sense of dread about this man that had rescued her. _Who is he?_ Was the only thought that she could manage clearly. She simply hoped that he was not a Templar. Too many had used the cover of the Clergy in her career. However, before she had a chance to think more about, darkness filled her eyes.

She awoke in a small bed with the covers pulled up to her neck. Even then her legs stuck out from the end of the bed. She noticed that a small splint had been added to her leg and a warm blanket had been wrapped around her shin. It felt wonderful. She lifted her arm and discovered her hidden blade to be missing! She sat bolt upright in the bed and frantically scanned the room for the blade. Her fears were allayed when she saw it next to her on the small nightstand, her "reaper" leaning up against it.

It was then that she noticed the young man was sitting in a chair beyond the end of the bed. He appeared to be attending the small pot belly stove that was putting out a wonderful heat into the room. He closed it with a quiet clank and then turned to her only to be somewhat taken aback at her sitting upright in the bed.

After a long pause he simply said, "Hello."

Johanna laughed a little, "I suppose you are the man who carried me out of that mess?"

He nodded.

Johanna studied him more closely now that she was rapidly gaining warmth and feeling into her body. He was a handsome lad by all accounts. He was probably the equal of her unusual height, black hair that was cut relatively short, clean shaven, and relatively slender. However, the one thing that stood out to her were the eyes. They were the same, the same as her beloved. Johanna's confidence as the older one of the two of them drained a little as she asked, "May I at least know my rescuer's name?

The pause was deafening, but eventually the young man spoke, "Martin Warren, at your service ma'am."

Johanna smiled and glanced again at her weapons. Martin followed her train of thought and told her that her robes were cleaned and hanging to dry.

 _This lad._ Johanna thought. _This lad is unbelievable._ He seemed to be going out of his way to help her. As for the moment, she couldn't refuse. Her leg would need weeks to heal properly. As Martin left to go fetch some food for her, Johanna couldn't help but notice him in another way. A way that she thought had been buried with Edward.

 _Maybe it's possible_. Johanna thought. _Maybe it's possible._

She then laid back down, but not before reattaching her hidden blade. An Assassin was always ready.

MEMORY END

DESYNCHRONIZE


	4. Chapter 4

MEMORY START

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN

APRIL 27TH, 1871

SYNCHRONIZE

Johanna MacNamara ran down the nearest alley she could find. Loud voices pursued her and were getting closer. For the second time that day, she laid down a smoke bomb that she hoped would cover her trail. This chase had to end soon. It was at this point that she was keenly aware of her growing age; her bones ached with a pain that had not been there just a few years ago. Her newly healed leg still strained under the pressure of hot pursuit.

The kill had been going so well. She had finally located the Templar Master for Milwaukee. She had been less than ten feet from the man. Her blade had been out and ready to draw his blood. But then a guard she had not accounted for had come around the corner. _Sloppy! Sloppy!_ Johanna thought as she continued to run. The guard had yelled "Assassin", and the chase had begun.

Johanna looked back to see a wall of black smoke and hearing many coughing voices as she put on a new burst of speed. She had to separate herself from her pursuers soon. The cloud would soon dissipate. Her order of Assassins had been having trouble recently with these nitroglycerin-enhanced smoke bombs. The smoke was not thick enough and it only took the slightest breeze to stir it. It had done its job this time though.

Johanna turned the corner onto a main thoroughfare, but she knew she could not blend like she normally would be able to. Her chest was heaving and she could barely stand. This crowd that now surrounded her would only serve to single her out once her pursuers recovered. She needed to find a place to sit down and rest without risk of being recognized. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and focused. When she opened her eyes next, halos of all kinds of colors met her eyes.

Each person was lit up with their own individual color. She had learned several years back that this was the closest to Eagle Vision that she would ever achieve. It still served its purpose in this instance. She saw nearby a bench that had a man sitting on the far end. He had the slight blue tinge of a man that was exhausted. He would give her no trouble. She shifted her robes slightly and sat down. The moment she did, an intense wave of relief swept over her. She was safe, for now.

...

Johanna's eyes opened to find a much later day. The sun hung on the horizon and the sky had turned its signature colors of reds, yellows, oranges, and purple. She did not exactly feel refreshed from the nap, but her legs no longer hurt. She pulled up her leg and dragged back the stocking for inspection. The fracture area was swollen an angry red. She shook her head. That leg was going to be the death of her yet.

A sudden shift at the other side of the bench sent Johanna back into attention. Johanna whipped her head to the left and saw something she had not expected. A girl was reaching into her pocket. The girl was ragged; her hair and clothes spoke to a lifetime of hard times and living on the streets. A sudden realization came to her though. _This girl is trying to rob me!_ Before she had a chance to pull back and bolt, Johanna grabbed the girl's arm. She twisted and squirmed but did not scream. Johanna cocked an eyebrow at this reaction, but then realized by the look in this girl's eyes that she was absolutely terrified.

Johanna softened her features and said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Johanna. What's yours?"

The girl looked oddly at Johanna for a second and then said with a heavy accent, "My...name...Anastasia."

"Anastasia" Johanna tried. _She must be from the Eastern reaches of Europe. Maybe Russian._ "How about, Anastasia, that we both calm down and I'll take you to get a good meal. You look half-starved."

Anastasia looked at Johanna's arm then looked towards the street. "You're...You're not from...orphanage?"

Johanna emphatically shook her head and stood, with a slight wince of pain. "No Anastasia. I'm not. But I do know some people that will be able to take care of you."

"Will you? She asked with big pale blue eyes.

Johanna's heart melted at that sight. She had often helped young children throughout the Great Lakes region. She couldn't stand for the fact that these young ones had no one to care for them This one though. This little girl from the East reaches of Europe, was twisting her heart inside out. That had never happened before. This girl had been willing to rob a woman who was clearly armed. She was desperate; she needed somebody. That someone would just have to be her: Johanna Katerina MacNamara.

Johanna pulled off her cloak and put it on the girl's shoulders. Kneeling down, she then clipped it around the girl's neck to secure it. Anastasia squirmed uncomfortably, but Johanna silently insisted upon it. It was going to get cold with the passing of the sun on the shores of Lake Michigan. The chase had put Johanna far from the safety of the Assassin's Den at the Western edge of the city. She hoped that no one recognized her as they journeyed back.

MEMORY CLIP END

DESYNCHRONIZE


	5. Chapter 5

MEMORY START

CHICAGO/FT. DEERBORN

JUNE 9TH, 1849

SYNCHRONIZE

Johanna found herself again on the top of a building...waiting.

A few days ago, she and Edward had finally tracked down a man who had eluded them for a while, Amadeus Stevens. Locally in Ft. Deerborn, he was known as "the mad butcher" and to the Assassins was a known Templar. The man had proven to be difficult to track and seemed to have many hiding places.

Finally, Edward had confirmed a habit of the man's: he would always walk to one of his safe houses near the lakefront on a Friday. Again, he had dispatched Johanna to do it. Since her first kill back in January, Edward had been finding every single contract and assassination attempt that he could find for her to attempt. It was not that Johanna minded the opportunity to perfect her new craft. She just found it odd whenever she came back. He would send her right back out the door with a new assignment, with barely an acknowledgement of her. Johanna pondered this as she watched the streets in both directions. Any moment now Amadeus would reveal himself.

The hours passed and Johanna felt like it was about time to give up and report back to the den. There was no point in wasting a night on this cold roof for a man that may not show up. As she stood to leave, she noticed a shadow at her right. She whipped around to discover the man she was looking for. _How did he snuck up on me?_ Johanna thought bitterly as she flexed her finger to extend her blade. The blade clacked into place with a satisfying "chink".

"The Mad Butcher" laughed as Johanna snapped into a fighting stance. It was not just a laugh of amusement, but a laugh of pure and utter joy. "I knew there had been someone following me." The man sneered with a strange drawl. "Come now, little girl. Fighting is such...messy business."

Johanna's eyes hardened beneath her hood as she replied, "I'm no little girl, madman."

"Oh, but you are." He sneered again. "You have no idea the trap I've laid. Soon you'll be butchered. And I, will have another hood to hang on my wall. You Assassins are so predictable."

Johanna snarled and charged the man before he could utter a single word. It surprised Johanna when he didn't even try to dodge or fight back. However, when she pulled back to deliver the killing stab, she found herself being dragged away by a set of large and rough hands. Without thinking, Johanna wildly kicked. Amazingly, she felt her foot connect and a pained grunt exploded from her attacker's mouth. Johanna turned around and lept down from the roof and landed in a squatting position. She took off at a sprint. The surprise was gone. She had to pull out. The third tenet of the Creed sounded loudly in her head. _Never compromise the Order._

When she looked back finally, Johanna was surprised to find no sign of pursuit. She slowed her pace, but did not stop. She was in a part of the town that she did not know intuitively. It was certainly not a place that her mentor would normally bring her. The Assassins usually set up their dens in parts of towns and cities that were remote, but not destitute. This was if they could not find a "wilderness den" to set up more permanently. The nearest one to Chicago was the Rock River Valley Den nearly one-hundred miles away.

A slight drizzle began to dampen the walkway under her feet. Johanna knew immediately that she had to get out of the rain if she ever needed to defend herself, this mud would not do for that. She had to get indoors.

A warm light streamed from one of the buildings and heat seemed to emanate from it. A piano of some kind played a lively tune and Johanna felt it was the best immediate place for her to hole up until events cooled down enough for her to leave.

The moment Johanna walked in, she felt she had made a mistake. Women in the room were in various stages of undress and the men were sitting in varying degrees of drunkenness. Johanna had a sinking feeling about where she had wandered into that was affirmed when a woman stepped up to her. She was in her early forties with a smattering of grey within her black locks. Brown eyes that has small lines at the corners had an appraising look that swept Johanna from head to toe. For a moment, Johanna thought that she now knew what the hogs had felt like before going to market. She shivered at that though. She was much shorter than Johanna, but her presence radiated authority. Her red dress only accentuated that kind of commanding confidence.

A small smirk appeared on the woman's face as she said to Johanna, "I was starting to wonder when you'd show up girly. But if you're looking for work, I'm all filled up."

Johanna was stunned. She had never met this woman as far as she knew. But her look seemed to say more than words ever could that she knew her. She finally asked, "How do you know me?"

"A tall redhead doesn't go unnoticed in this town, girly." The woman replied. Her eyes suddenly grew dark and she took Johanna's hand and dragged her into a side room. Johanna let herself be led. This woman did not seem dangerous at the moment. She just was odd to say the least, and a Madame for certain. Also, her cheeks colored slightly at the mention of her height. _You can't keep letting it bother you._ Johanna thought, but in her heart, she was just uncertain.

Once she was certain that they were alone, the woman whirled back on Johanna. "Look girly," She began. "I know who you arrived with and I know who you're working for. If you're trying to recruit me into your little killer's club, you can turn right around. If you've left those lunatics and need work, I can point you in the right direction." She shrugged. "I am full to the rafters with desperate souls already."

Johanna considered herself quick witted most of the time, but she had to blink several times before she was ready to answer this woman's questions. At least she did not interrupt as she explained. It appeared that this woman, whoever she was, knew of the Assassin's but was neither friend or foe of theirs. Somehow she seemed to know of Edward in particular. She wondered what that meant. But emphatically, Johanna denied needing work.

"I don't think I'd be of much help to your 'business' here anyway, Madame?" Johanna hedged.

"You can call me Lillian." She replied to Johanna's questioning tone. Lillian crossed her arms over her chest and said, "So that Amadeus Stevens fella is after you? Now there's something I can help you with. He comes in here once a month usually. Seems to like redheads." She gave another appraising look at Johanna and continued, "I'm not much in the killing business girly. But that Stevens is a monster and needs to be put down. He's hurt two of my girls already. Second worse than the last. It seems I can make use of you after all."

"How?", Johanna asked simply.

"You'll find out" Lillian replied with an air of mystery. "Come back in a week. And we'll see about 'removing' Stevens." To Johanna's surprise, Lillian's voice grew angry when she spoke next, "I'm going to help you, but that does not mean I owe anything to your little 'Order'. Come back alone, or don't come back. My establishment doesn't need any more trouble than what I've already worked." Johanna turned to leave with that, but Lillian stopped her by placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. "Wear something a little more...exposing, Tall Tiffany. You're going to need a new identity for your new name."

As Johanna walked out of the brothel, she felt more confused than she had ever been since arriving in Chicago. This woman, Lillian, was strange indeed, but she needed her help. It was as simple as that. _Tall Tiffany..._ Johanna mused to herself. _I reckon I'll see what happens._ As she walked, she had no idea how she would explain this to Edward.

MEMORY END

DESYNCHRONIZE


	6. Chapter 6

MEMORY START

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

JULY 14TH, 1879

SYNCHRONIZE

Anastasia MacNamara strode along Michigan Avenue, outwardly uncaring of the mob that surrounded her. The throngs of people appeared to merge and split in all directions. She reveled in this. She reveled in the life of the city. It stirred her in a way that few other things in this world could.

However, her rosebud mouth was in a state of a something that resembled a cross between a scowl and a frown. Not five minutes earlier, she had stormed out on her adoptive mother for what seemed like the millionth time this week. It had started off so innocently in her mind. Her mother's lover, Reverend Warren, had said that she had transformed into a lovely young lady. However, not a breath had passed between the compliment and her mother coming back with yet another criticism. Last week it had been her boots. This week it had been the alterations Anastasia had made to her Assassin's robes.

"You look like a whore!" Her mother had exclaimed.

For one of very few times in her life, Anastasia had been completely flabbergasted. She didn't even remember what she said in retaliation. The next thing she was clearly aware of was a slap from Reverend Warren and him yelling, "Don't speak to your mother like that! Lord knows what she does for you every single day!"

"To hell with you!" Anastasia had screamed before spinning on her heel and marched toward the door of the hideout. As the door slammed behind her, she began to run. She didn't even think. She just allowed her feet to carry her where they willed.

Now she found herself on Michigan Avenue. However, as awareness came back to her, she felt that this was not the place she wanted to be. Her Assassin's eyes scanned over the crowd and found people in handsome suits and dresses of the finest thread. Her scowl deepened and she took off towards the south. She needed release.

The sun sank toward the horizon, but as it did, Anastasia's smile returned. Sounds of merrymaking and fornication assaulted her ears, but her smile only widened. This was truly the kind of crowds she reveled in. Men and women on the edge of moral compasses, free from the factories for the day. Free from responsibility. She knew she would go back to the hideout eventually and face her mother's wrath. But for now, she would laugh and drink and fornicate until the sun came back up.

A familiar sight caught her attention as she rounded another corner. A red-painted tavern known as the Lying Sailor stood almost vibrant against its drab surroundings. She had often seen her mother go into this building while tailing her on missions, but had always wondered why her mother—the self-righteous hag she was becoming—would ever frequent a place like that and in this place of town. Curiosity seized her and, pulling her vest down a little further to expose even more of her generous cleavage, she walked in.

The Lying Sailor certainly had the feel of an establishment of pleasure. Dim lights coated everything in muted colors and the smell in the room was that of human musk, freshly poured drink, and of women. Anastasia smirked a little and kept the small smile as the doors closed behind her. While not her usual destination of her wanderings, this place would do nicely. Some indecent company would do her a world of good, she thought to herself.

What took her by surprise was the bar-matron's devious smile and a mouthing of "come here". Anastasia's Assassin instincts began to click together in her head, but she slowly approached and took a seat.

The older woman did not even ask what Anastasia wanted, but poured them both a large glass of Scotch Whiskey. She took a sip with a questioning eye and then broke into a huge smile. "I thought it was you, girly! Where's your mother?"

For the second time that day, Anastasia was flabbergasted. "You..." She began, "You know my mother?"

"Of course I do." The woman's smile was now near infuriatingly gleeful. "She's been coming to me since she was a scared little slip of a girl not much older than yourself. Anastasia right?" Anastasia nodded and she went on in a more serious tone, "I've been your mother's informant for years and a good friend besides. She helps me, I help her. You savvy that?"

Again, Anastasia nodded, but then she couldn't keep a question from bursting from her lips, "Who are you?"

The mature woman then roared with laughter. "Why child," She said. "I'm Madame Lillian. Once a simple woman of pleasure and now a woman of business. But pleasure is still my business, whatever that may be. And a woman of advice on occasion. And you girly, have the look of a woman that is running from something, but I see no police. Drink, and tell me about it."

Anastasia was fairly sure it wasn't the Scotch Whiskey, because she barely touched it. However, she soon found herself, after some more light prodding from Lillian, telling the Madame everything. From her recent failings as an Assassin, to her frustration with her mother's hypocrisy, to her secret relationship with a blacksmith that not even her one friend in the Order knew about. By the time Anastasia began wrapping up her tale, she found the bar section of Lillian's business deserted and that night had completely fallen.

Lillian took a moment to light two more lanterns that sat at the edge of the bar counter. The extra flame highlighted the woman's lines of age that had not been so evident at first. She looked to be almost sixty if not already there. In the dim glow and quiet, she looked tired to Anastasia.

"Well girly." She began. "I wasn't expecting quite that much out of you. I had the measure that you would be like the name I've heard for you on the streets." Anastasia had a fair guess as to what that name was. She grimaced, but continued to listen as Madame Lillian continued, "First off, I never knew my mother. And my father ran like a pack of wild Indians at the prospect of raising me on his own. But do you know what happened to your mother?"

Anastasia shook her head in the negative, and Lillian slowly sighed in regret. "I guessed not." She said. "You see, she told me several years back and I still remember it to this day. Do you ever wonder why your mother is so committed to the Assassin cause? Do you ever wonder why she's so desperate to hold on to you and the Reverend Warren too?" She paused a moment as if to steel herself. "Your mother's family was slaughtered by brigands hired by Templars, hanged and mutilated. She's scared Anastasia. You and the good reverend are all she has left, especially after the good president's death."

Anastasia was floored. Questions whirred through her head. Most of them centering around why her mother hadn't just told her all this before, and she asked Lillian as much.

"Do you think it has been that easy for her Anastasia? I've been her closest confidant for 14 years and she only told me when she finally found her family's killers. She still carries that burden. My advice to you, girly, is to not make your mother's sufferings worse. She needs you more than you'll ever know. I think you'll find that if you come to accept that, all the rest of your concerns will fall right into place." Lillian then quickly looked behind her and gasped a little at the clock as it struck one in the morning. "I think it's time we both got some shuteye girly. Think on what I've said."

"What about my drink? How much do I owe you?" Anastasia asked.

"Consider it an opening gift. As I am to your mother, I am at your service Assassin." Lillian replied.

Anastasia nodded, almost too scared to speak, but she managed a low "Thank you." before rushing out the doors into the night. Quickly, she extended her dual hidden blades as she began to walk towards the hideout. This was not a night for travelling unarmed. Anastasia smirked with a small amount of her usual humor. There was never a night in Chicago where blades were not needed.

MEMORY END

DESYNCHRONIZE


End file.
